


Mummy

by Saskia



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Adventure, Egypt, F/M, M/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-09
Updated: 2015-07-17
Packaged: 2018-04-08 13:04:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,919
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4306197
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saskia/pseuds/Saskia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>London 2015, a wealthy archaeologist turned antiquities dealer, John Stilinski, discovers an unusual tomb. The mummy inside, in its left-behind notes, claims to be the famous pharaoh Derek II, despite that same pharaoh being on display inside the Egyptian museum since 1882.<br/>Nonetheless, the mummy and his treasure are shipped off to London, and placed on temporary display in the Stilinski manor.<br/>Stiles has always suffered curiosity and impetuousness, but tangling with a 3000 year old mummy might cure that. Permanently.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by 3 movies (mostly The Mummy) and many books.
> 
> Will NOT contain non-con or aggressive brutish Derek (maybe a little dominant Derek), it's a romance adventure. Will contain action and violence.
> 
> I know I really shouldn't start something new, since I've got so much other projects going on, but I can't get the idea out of my head and I already have several chapters finished anyway, so here it goes...

Prologue

The ancient Egyptians have gripped our imagination for centuries. Ever since Egyptologists deciphered hieroglyphs in the early 19th century, this wonderful civilization has been opened to historians, archaeologists, and curious people.

Egypt, the land of pyramids and of strange and numerous deities. They have been burying kings in Egypt for thousands of years. Burying them with gold and jewels to spend in the afterlife. And people have been robbing those kings for thousands of years, to spend the fortunes in this life. By 1900 all the ancient pyramids had been robbed.

John Stilinski had come to Cairo from London a quarter of a century ago, intending to devote most of his time studying ancient relics. The choice of Cairo was dictated by the far superior research facilities to be found there. Not to forget, Cairo was home to the Egyptian Museum, containing the world’s most extensive collection of Egyptian antiquities.  
Initially, while earning a living by teaching English, he embarked on a course of intensive study. He enrolled in the Egyptian Archeology Society and spent six years familiarizing himself with the ancient history of Egypt and mastering hieroglyphics.

However, when he tried to put his knowledge to use in the field, he found himself facing the same problem that had troubled archeologists for more than a century. Egypt was no longer the archeology paradise it once was, the land no longer contained undiscovered riches, it had been plundered and raped too many times, leaving it bare and dried up, a hell for new archeologists digging for history and gold.

It took him another 6 years before he stumbled upon the vital clue (in what seems in retrospect a moment of inspiration) embedded in an ancient text so familiar that he found it hard to believe that its significance had not struck him years earlier. The passage in question occurs in an ancient text written by Derek II, and translated by John himself.  
Kings were buried in pyramids to guard their gold. It didn’t work. They were too easy to rob. Derek II, son of Seti I, presumed on display in the Cairo museum, and also known as Derek the Great for his success in battle and architectural prowess, often spoke about the problem of grave robbers in his more political texts. He also designed several tombs, presumed to be nothing more than sketches because they were never build.  
But what if Derek did build one of these massive tombs, located deep in the sands near Thebes. There would only be one way in and that entrance could’ve been easily guarded in those times. That would have stopped any thief from entering and damaging the kings resting place.  
Could it be that Derek II build his impenetrable tomb and was buried there after his death, and that the body discovered in 1818 in the Valley of the Kings was not Derek the Great but a body double, meant to mislead. 

Then, 2 years, a wife and son later, John finally secured his funds for the excavation and proved the world right when he came across a forgotten tomb of Derek II. It was full of the dead king’s treasure. But no sarcophagus, no grave, no corpse and no remains of the great pharaoh were ever found. The discovery left John incredibly wealthy, but unsatisfied. 

For 18 more years he searched for another tomb, searched for the mummy of his beloved Derek II. Determined to discover the final resting place of Derek, no matter what the cost.  
And it cost him dearly. He lost his elite status and esteem among fellow archeologists, and became known as the mad Egyptologist. Derek II cost him his wife. Claudia Stilinski contracted a strange disease while visiting her husband in Egypt because his obsession for Derek prevented him from returning home. It was that very obsession that made him estranged from his own son Stiles, now running Stilinski Antiquities back home, the company John had started so many years ago.

So much sacrifice in pursuit of something never found. 

Until now…


	2. Chapter 2

There were four witnesses of the remarkable discovery in the desert near Thebes, or two witnesses who reported it. In normal times this dig would have been a front-page sensation; but these were not normal times, and John Stilinski was no longer the revered archeologist he once was.  
Nonetheless, the day promised perfection, and the view was one of which he never tired. From where he stood on the top of a dune, he looked out over the oasis and the complex of small villages that surrounded it. White buildings with flat roofs and palms next to the houses, rising much higher than any of the homes. A duck flew down on quick wings to land with a small splash close against the reed banks of the sparkling Nile.

There was something cathartic about wielding a crowbar. John used one end to loosen the wood and limestone blocking the tomb door, before ripping out the wooden panels. He tossed the stone and wood in a growing pile by the entrance.  
Long ago he had diggers for this job, now he had to do it all himself. His own son had cut him off.  
John never blamed Stiles for this, he would have done the same if the roles had been reversed. He would spend his entire fortune on this damn quest, but he had given his family the power over his company, so he only had restricted funds to his disposal. He never regretted this decision, until now, when he found the air inside the narrow entrance stuffy and oppressive, a situation exacerbated by his current labor.  
John thrust his copper chisel through the limestone directly ahead of him and felt it hit against solid masonry. He did it again, just to be sure. Without doubt, he had reached the inner door. He took a large breath of Egyptian air, and coughed. He blinked the stinging sand from his eyes and leaned on the door casing as he surveyed his work. He had taken off most of the wooden panels and stone blocking the entrance, the tomb door underneath finally revealed. Coated in several years of dust and grime, the door appeared dull in the morning light. John knew he was close, the hairs on the back of his arms rose as he touched the entrance. If he was right, beyond lay treasure the likes of which the world had never seen, beyond was the final resting place of the greatest pharaoh Egypt had ever known. Derek II, buried 3000 years ago.

With renewed enthusiasm he dug into the densely packed rubble at the bottom of the tomb door. The dust made breathing difficult. Sweat dripped from his face in a steady stream. Behind him, the loosened limestone was gathered into a reed basket by his right hand man Samir.  
John’s fingertips traced the seal of kings on the blocked door, undisturbed since the mighty pharaoh had been buried. Behind him he could hear Samir’s labored breathing as he dropped the gravel into the basket.  
“We have reached the inner door.” John said with a mixture of fear and excitement. More than anything else, he wanted inside that tomb, wanted to see and touch the remains of the man that had haunted his every thought for more than 20 years. But he also felt a thief, a grave robber, for tunneling into the eternal sanctuary of the helpless Derek.  
“Samir.” He cried. “I need light.”  
Samir instantly scrambled backward out of the entrance, dragging his reed basket. A moment later a torch exploded behind him, and in a flood of yellow light, the inner door became wonderfully visible. Hieroglyphs, deeply etched, beautifully gilded, and pure gold. John had never seen such a sight.  
He felt Samir’s hot breath in his neck as he began to read aloud. “Robbers of the dead, look away from this tomb lest you wake its occupant, whose wrath cannot be contained. Beware, all those who would let the rays of the sun pass through this door. Once awakened, he is servant to no man.”  
“But it makes no sense,” Samir whispered.  
For a moment John was speechless, staring at the words he’d read. Only vaguely did he hear Samir.  
“It’s clearly a warning, a curse.”  
Reluctantly John turned and saw that Samir’s suspicion had turned to fear.  
“This is the grave of Pharaoh Derek II. That I know.” John noticed that his voice had a strange warbling quality within the narrow confines of the entrance. “As to why the warning insinuates he still be alive. I do not know.”  
“The body of Derek II is in the Cairo Museum, John.” Samir said impatiently.  
“No,” John answered. He was aware of a chill moving slowly up his neck. “There’s a body in the Cairo Museum, but it’s not Derek. As I’ve always suspected, the mummy found in 1818 was just a decoy. Look at the cartouches and the seal, a king is buried here.”  
Oh, if only Stiles were here, John thought bitterly. He would understand this moment as no one else could.  
He almost stumbled as he backed out of the passage, waving the locals out of his path.  
“Hire some diggers and get them to work, immediately.” John shouted. “I want the passage cleared down to the threshold. I’m going into that tomb tonight.”  
“John, we don’t have the money,” Samir cautioned. “And even if we did, there is something here which must not be dismissed.”  
“Samir, you astonish me,” John answered. “For 18 years we’ve been searching these hills for just such a discovery. And no one’s touched that door since it was sealed three thousand years ago.”  
“Perhaps it would be better to wait.” Samir pointed out. “We should have an expert check for booby-traps.”  
John gave a heavy sigh. “Get me some diggers, Samir. I will pay for them myself, no need to use the dig funds.”  
Samir nodded slowly.

Scowling, John pulled a torch off the wall and hurried down the path towards his tent. His eyes narrowed as he looked beyond the flickering torches at the beauty of the lighted tents under the black evening sky.  
By the time he made it to the correct tent, his nephew, Peter, had stumbled into it and eyed him with an expression that left a bitter taste in John’s mouth. As Peter reached over to pull up a chair, John cleared his throat.  
“I assume you have a good explanation for being here.” John growled, startling Peter with his directness.  
“Believe me, we both rather have me be somewhere else, but there is the small technicality of some company papers that need signing.”  
“At a time like this?”  
“Uncle, the world hasn’t stopped turning on account of your discovery. You are still the CEO of a million dollar company, even if it’s just in name only.” Such acid in the tone. “And the stock has to be liquidated.”

Peter Hale, his nephew in law, so uncomfortable and out of place in Egypt. Peter, with the inevitable glass of Scotch in his hand, looking both handsome and miserable in his Armani suit. Peter, who cared for no one and nothing but women, gaming tables and the bottle.

Peter poured himself a few fingers of scotch and then unceremoniously slammed it back. He was refilling the glass when John stepped up behind him.  
“I’m not signing anything.” He grinned at Peter, took the glass from his hand, and downed its contents in a single swallow before handing it back to him. “Go back to London, Peter. Go back to your mistress and your gambling tables. But get out.”  
“Uncle…” Peter muttered as he looked at the empty glass. “I’d be more than happy to go back to London if you would only take a moment to sign.”

John looked up at his nephew, the sole heir to the Hale millions, who couldn’t be trusted with a one-dollar bill. Sent here by his father, John’s brother in law, Alex Hale, on a mission, desperate to cover his debts. Alex Hale, chairman of the board of Stilinski Antiquities, who clumsily funneled the company’s profits into his son’s bottomless purse.  
But in truth, John could forgive Alex anything. Alex had cared for Claudia until the day she died, never even left her bedside in all those weeks leading up to her death.  
After Claudia passed, John had given the family business to Alex. No, he had dumped it on Alex, along with all its immense pressures and responsibilities, so that he could spend his time searching, digging, among the Egyptian ruins for Derek, unable to be anywhere near his son, who reminded him too much of his precious wife. So Alex took responsibility for Stiles as well, practically raised him.  
And to be perfectly honest, Alex had done a tolerable job of running the company. That is, until his son had turned him into an embezzler and a thief. John had known about it for years but deliberately avoided that confrontation. How was he supposed to fire the man who raised his son and comforted his wife as she took her last breath? Besides, he never wanted to leave Egypt again for the stuffy London offices of Stilinski Antiquities. Not even Stiles could persuade him to come home, not forever anyway, there were the occasional weekly visits.

“How many times must I say it?” John invaded Peter’s personal space to reach around him, grabbed the bottle of scotch, and refilled Peter’s glass before pouring himself one. “No. I will sign no papers. Now finish your drink, take your briefcase, and get out of my sight.”  
“Uncle, the Earl wants an answer regarding Stiles and Lydia. He won’t wait forever. And as for these papers, it’s only a matter of a few shares.”  
John swallowed the last of his scotch and deposited his glass on the desk. Then let himself plop down into one of the chairs. “If I have to repeat myself one more time, you’re going home with a black eye.”  
Peter exited the tent without a second glance.

• • •

Half-past midnight. Was he dreaming? The marble door of the tomb had been carefully removed, photographed, and placed on trestles in his tent. And now they were ready to blast their way in. The tomb! His at last.  
He nodded to Samir. He felt the ripple of excitement move through the bystanders. Flashes went off as he raised his hands to his ears, and then the blast caught them all off guard. He felt it in the pit of his stomach.

“You should think about returning,” a strange voice broke through the dust. “Nights can be deadly here.”  
John turned. He didn’t recognize the dark clad figure before him. From his long black robe and headdress, John instantly knew the man was a native. Another man, also dressed in black, with tattoos on his face and a knife in hand, stood expressionless by his side.  
“Thank you for the warning, but we will be staying.” John stated, glaring up at the intruder, ignoring the throbbing of his head caused by the blast. “Who are you?”  
The man nodded his head toward John, but his eyes were a dark challenge as they moved over his face. “I am Ardeth Bay.”  
His accent was Egyptian, sure. But very different from any other native he’d ever spoken with.  
“Why are you here?”  
“I represent Dr. Hassan,” he said simply.  
That was interesting. The Secretary General of the Egyptian Council of Antiquities had sent someone to his dig site?  
“Is there something wrong?” Because usually the council was only concerned about the stack of paperwork required for his digs.  
“Your work can be continued tomorrow. You must return now.” It wasn’t a request, or even friendly advice. It was a command.  
John quickly grew tired of the man standing between him and his tomb. “I appreciate your concern.”  
“You refuse my request?”  
His request? “Yes,” John snapped impatiently. “We’re losing light. If you will excuse us…”  
“Then you are brave but foolish.”  
John’s temper flared. “I’ve lived here most of my life and the only real danger I have ever faced is sun poisoning.”  
The man smiled, not in the least surprised by his reaction, one might even say he expected it. Arrogant ass.  
Samir threw a worried look at John. “Maybe we should listen to him, John.” The wind blew up a small plume of sand as if on cue.  
“We’re staying.” John told him flatly before folding his arms across his chest.  
The man standing beside the intruder raised his sword and waited for instructions.  
“We will shed no blood tonight, but you must leave. Leave this place or die. You have one day.” Then he got on his horse, and rode out of the camp, quickly followed by his armed companion.  
“See that proves it. Fortune must be under this sand!” A digger yelled. “For them to protect it like this, you just know there’s got to be treasure down there.”  
Samir turned toward the digger. “No. These men are a desert tribe. They value water, not gold.”

A peculiar incident, that was the only way to describe it. But no time to dwell on it. John had the torch in hand and was going in, though Samir tried once again to stop him.  
“John, there could be booby traps, there could be-”  
He pushed past Samir, crossed a maze of abandoned mining gear and piles of work gear to reach the hole in the hillside framed by timber. He hesitated at the threshold. Swallowing back his fear, he thrust the torch through the gaping hole and ducked inside. As the way led deeper, the walls changed from raw limestone to stone blocks. Ancient steps appeared and led downward yet again. Deeper and deeper. Walls squeezed tighter on either side, as if trying to push him back. But he had no choice. With sweat trickling down his back, he had to keep going.  
At last, the tunnel emptied into a cavernous space. It was a large chamber, the walls scribed with hieroglyphs. Other passageways led out from the room, but John’s eyes were drawn to the golden sarcophagus against the wall. From the flare of the torch in his hand, he could see it was laid with gems. The gem representing its eye reflected the firelight, glowing bloodred.

“Not possible,” Samir had not been able to resist temptation, and had entered the tomb as well. “But look, John, the mummy case!”  
John had already seen it. He was staring speechless at the thing which lay serenely in the very middle of this puzzling room. Unmistakably Derek II. Leaving the two men standing there in stunned silence.  
It was Samir who spoke first. “This is Egyptian furniture. This is Derek II. Look at the coins, John, on the table. Those alone are worth-”  
“I know. But there lies an ancient Pharaoh, my friend. Every detail of the case as fine as any ever found in the Valley of the Kings.”  
Samir approached the mummy case, lifting the torch high above the beautifully painted face, with its darkly lined eyes and exquisitely modeled lips.  
“Curses,” Samir whispered. He was staring at the rows of hieroglyphs that circled the painted figure. “Enough to give a sensible man pause.”  
“Not this sensible man,” John replied. “Get those workers in here to lift this lid at once.”  
As Samir disappeared from the tomb, John reached out and touched the mummy case, he touched it reverently with the very tips of his fingers.  
“Stiles,” he whispered. “My dear son, if only you could see…”

To be continued…


	3. Chapter 3

Tobias Martin, Earl of Beaumont, parked his Bentley at the bottom of the driveway of Belmont Hall. He and his granddaughter, countess Lydia Martin, had quite a long walk ahead of them up to the Manor where the party was being held.  
Tonight’s ball was the birthday celebration of a young French countess. Recently engaged to a wealthy British investor, she had arrived in England to call upon her future family and to host an opening ceremony for a school built by the charity foundation she represented.  
All the cars they passed were from the luxury end of the market; Rolls Royce, Bentleys and Italian sports cars. There were a few cars for the less wealthy, incongruously parked alongside the Ferraris.  
“It should be an interesting night where the Countess Adelene rubs shoulders with an owner of a Lada.” observed Lydia.  
“Yes, it should be.” agreed Tobias.  
On entering the mansion, they didn’t have much time to admire the entrance hall’s Greek statues, as they were speedily ushered into a small side room, which was being used as the cloakroom. Inside, two burly men in tweed suits helped to divest them of their outer garments and send them back into the hall.  
“Those men were rather rough.” Lydia noted, rubbing her arm.  
“I’d say they would be better employed in a security role than in service. I’d wager it’s their first night on hatcheck duty.” answered Tobias. “Ah, this is what I expected from the invitation.” he added, as they went into the grand ballroom.

The grand ballroom was decorated with lavish flower arrangements, thousands upon thousands of candles and silver. Most of the guests were young, fashionable, and attractive. They shared similar social circles and occupations, and though they were not all personally familiar with the countess, they did possess a link, in shape or form, to her and her family.  
The first strings of a lively piece rang out throughout the crowded ballroom as musicians played their violins while the younger generation danced.

Although her eyes glanced longingly at the dance floor whenever she thought no one would notice, Lydia remained standing next to her grandfather.  
Waiters weaved their way between them, carrying trays of drinks. Tobias secured two champagne flutes and passed one to Lydia.  
“Do you want me to act as your chaperone or would you prefer to strike out on your own?” Tobias enquired.  
“If you don’t mind, grandfather, I’ve spotted Stiles and would like to go to him.”  
“Very well, I shall leave you to your fiancé.” He drained the glass rather gracelessly and caught the eye of a passing waiter. “Yes, another.”

Tobias rarely attended these events anymore, he was here solely on account of his granddaughter Lydia, and because the countess Adelene insisted he be present. Wouldn’t be the same without the Earl of Beaumont she had said. Of course, it had been more his title than the man she wanted at her party. A true noble, not one who had bought his title with money. His lineage went back one way or another to Henry Tudor himself.

Tobias drained another glass of exquisite champagne, already giving him a massive headache. He missed his old friend John Stilinski at times like these, as he watched their children dance. Sadly, Stiles wasn’t really going to marry Lydia. At least not any time soon. Probably never. Tobias recognized himself in Stiles and thus knew what Stiles had yet to discover about himself. That even though he loved Lydia, she wasn’t what he truly wanted.  
But their marriage was the only hope for Lydia to acquire the money she needed to maintain the estates she would inherit. The wealth that was supposed to go along with an old title seldom did anymore.  
Lydia could care less about the money, partly because Tobias had protected her from the harsh reality that they were spending much more than they could afford, and partly because she truly loved Stiles.

Ten minutes later, Tobias excused himself to an outdoor balcony. It was not a cold night, and if he listened closely he could hear the movement of cars, the grind of rubber wheels against the asphalt. Then, just as he tried to shut out the noise, and hear only the sweet strains of the music.  
“Still no word from Peter.” Alex Hale said, stepping out onto the balcony. He had correctly assumed that Tobias would be as far away as he possibly could from the festivities.  
“Give your son a chance,” Tobias responded. “He’s only been in Egypt a week.”  
“If all goes well, the marriage will take place within six months.” Alex smiled.  
“John is your brother in law, left you in charge of his company, and I, his best friend. Here we are, plotting and scheming. And for what? Money.”  
He couldn’t remember when his friendship with John had faltered. Or perhaps, in all honesty, he knew exactly what had caused it. Envy. Jealousy. Yes, Tobias had begrudged John his freedom, his adventures, the ability to live his life as he pleased, all the while accomplishing wealth beyond belief. While he, Tobias, remained in London in a world he did not value, in a world which gave him no pleasure. And that had been the first bitterness between them.  
“Tobias, the marriage is crucial for our survival. If it doesn’t happen, Lydia will inherit an estate and title she can no longer afford, and Stiles, without Lydia to distract him, might actually take a serious interest in the company.”  
“Alex, you wouldn’t even be in this mess if you could only control your own son.” Suddenly Tobias felt himself a hypocrite, judging Alex for indulging on his son Peter’s every whim, while there was absolutely nothing he would refuse his own granddaughter, and silently praying that Lydia would soon be happily married to the Stilinski millions, and not before too long! A hypocrite indeed.

Yes, John had escaped to Egypt, back to the desert, the temples, to those clear star-filled nights. God, how he missed John. Missed the nights spent arguing about history, ruins, archaeological discoveries, poetry, anything really. John, his true soul mate. Although he would never have described it like that to the man himself, knowing John did not feel the same. In the last three years they had exchanged only a handful of letters, but the old understanding would never fade.

More concerns from Alex. But Tobias wasn’t listening. He stepped back inside and watched the dancers again, his beautiful granddaughter whispering passionately to Stiles, whose face wore that look of determination that flattered him for reasons Tobias could never fully understand.

It was the Blue Danube Waltz by Johann Strauss and Stiles loved it, he had always loved it. Lydia kept talking to him, telling him in one way or another that she loved him, and again was that panic inside him, that fear of speaking harsh or cold words.

Lydia was a vision, a countess, who even without the title exuberated class. She was a marvelous dancer, charming to the extent where she bewitched everybody in the room, and a good conversationalist with an intelligence that rivaled his own. But her hands were soft and gentle, and when she held his, Stiles couldn’t help but think of rougher, cleverer fingers, and when she spoke, he couldn’t help but wish that her satin voice were higher and more… well… more. Her dominant side, especially in the bedroom, was one thing he truly loved about her.

Stiles’s eyes were pulled towards the silver hair and infectious grin of Tobias Martin. The stunning dark suit complimented his bright good looks really well. Although almost two times his senior, Stiles had always been drawn to Lydia’s grandfather, he might even admit to having a crush on the man. But of course one could not meet Tobias Martin, Earl of Beaumont, and simply not fall for his charm, intelligent wit and humor. 

“And if you want to live in Egypt,” Lydia said breathlessly. “And dig for treasure with your father, we’ll go straight after the wedding.”  
“Lydia, we shouldn’t rush things.” Stiles answered.  
“We are both sure of what we want, Stiles. We have our lives all planned out and I see no reason to wait.”  
Stiles couldn’t bear to see her so deadly earnest. He leaned forward and she moved back a step, the waltz carrying them almost recklessly fast.  
“What can I do to convince you, Stiles?” she whispered in his ear. “I’ll bring the Pyramids to London if I have to.”  
“Lydia, you won me a long time ago,” he said, smiling. But that was a lie. “The simple truth is… I don’t want to be married. Not yet.” And perhaps never?  
At that exact moment, Tobias’s eyes seemed to meet his. Was it just him or did his smile become more of a smirk? Was that a wink or a blink? With all of the spinning from dancing Stiles really couldn’t tell.  
“In a few months, dad will be back. We’ll all talk then, Lydia. Marriage, Egypt, and the possibility that you deserve far better than a man like me who’s very likely to send you running into the arms of a lover within the first year.”  
Suddenly he kissed her. They had stopped in the middle of the dance floor, other couples swirling around them as the music swept on. He kissed her and she allowed it, yielding to him completely as if she must somehow meet him halfway. It didn’t matter that others were looking at them. It didn’t matter that Tobias’s face flashed before his eyes as he held her. What mattered was that though Lydia loved Stiles terribly, as he did her, it was not enough.

To be continued…


End file.
